


Stay Safe

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has a gift for Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 holiday challenge at the LJ community "adventchallenge". Prompt is "gift". Also covers the "heirloom/antique" square for my cotton candy bingo.

Greg bit his lip to keep it from dropping open in shock. "This is your home?"

"My family's home, yes," Mycroft said as he wrapped up a document by signing his name. He tucked it into a waiting folder that was then given to Anthea. He leaned over Greg to watch the house come closer.

It was...well, not huge exactly, but certainly of old moneyed value. Four columns lined the porch, both the ground floor one and the first floor one. It was painted different colours that Greg could pick out if he focused on them, but it was difficult to--the entire thing was obviously meant to be viewed as one picture rather than taken apart. As they slowed to a stop before the front door, it was opened by a man Greg had seen once or twice at Mycroft's town house.

God, Mycroft's London home was his _town house_.

Greg swallowed hard as he followed Mycroft up. The driver was handing their suitcases off to the waiter--butler?--before getting back in to drive Anthea back to London. Inside, luckily for Greg, was not as ostentatious as he thought it would be. It was painted and decorated in warm browns, blues, and greens, wooden floors and knick knacks here and there. It was a bit cozy to be honest.

"It's nice," Greg muttered as he turned to take everything in.

Mycroft smiled. "Thank you. I had it redone some years ago when my mother passed away--garish it was then. This is how the house looked when my great grandmother decorated it to suit her new husband's tastes. A gift from her to him, welcoming him to the family."

Greg could see that it did feel like something out of the museums that had rooms decorated as they would have been at the end of the 1800s. He trailed his hand on the banister, smooth and warm like the colour it was stained. "I like it."

Mycroft's eyes softened and he stepped closer, a hair away. "Good. That's...very good."

Greg's heart was tripping in his chest. "Oh, yeah?"

Mycroft licked his lips. "Yes. Come, let me show you my room. We might have something to teach this house that it may have forgotten."

Greg's check heated in a blush as he led by the hand up the stairs.

~~~

Greg was eating breakfast by himself on Christmas morning. The sheets next to him were cold and he had found Mycroft in the ground floor study which meant that some unexpected business came up. Greg hadn't minded in the least. The time alone gave him the space to explore the house a bit more. After their first night here, Mycroft had given him a quick tour with a few comments about when rooms had been added or converted and how it tied in with the family through the generations. 

But they had then spent the next several days in close company, making up for the time that they lost in the last months because of both their jobs.

Greg was surprised they had managed three full days without interruption to be honest. 

As he was setting his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, Mycroft padded into the room. "I had hoped you would still be in bed."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I think we could both do with some rest after everything."

Mycroft smirked. "I'm not done with you yet, Greg."

Greg shivered and leaned back against the counter. "What did you have planned? Wake me up with a blow job? Rim me? Or were you going to coax me awake with teasing touches and kisses?"

Mycroft's lips softened into a smile and he crowded Greg, hands settling on Greg's hips. "Those would have been nice, yes. But this is our first Christmas together and I was looking to perhaps spend an hour or three wrapped up with you in bed."

"Doing nothing?" Greg mocked. "I didn't know you knew that such an activity existed. You seemed to be a man of action."

"Spending time with you no matter what we do is always a reward," Mycroft said. He bent his head and softly kissed Greg, a little act that sent thrills down Greg's spine. 

Mycroft breathed deep when the kiss ended. "You are lovely, Greg, and I would love nothing more than to take you in the kitchen, but your gift is upstairs and I am very eager for you to have it."

Greg smirked and followed Mycroft up the stairs, their hands linked together. "So what is it really? I can't imagine it's anything safe since you want me to be in the bedroom for it."

Mycroft said nothing as they entered the room. He pushed Greg toward a chair and pulled a simple box out of the nightstand. It was too big to be a ring, but it was some sort of jewelry. Greg flushed, embarrassed that he had thought it wasn't a serious gift. Given how nervous Mycroft looked, it was very important.

"Sorry," Greg said. "I thought..."

"Open it," Mycroft pressed.

Greg licked his lips and removed the lid. He looked up at Mycroft and then down. He lifted the pocket watch out gently and opened it. The numerals were Roman and he could see the tiny gears click together as the hands moved around. On the cover, an inscription read _To my dearest Andrew, I will love you always. Your Mary._

"It belonged to my grandfather," Mycroft said quietly. "He had been skipped over when the draft came for the First World War, but he joined nevertheless, saying he had duty to his country and his fellows. He fought with my grandmother about it--she was scared of losing him. The day he left, however, she gave him the pocket watch for his uniform. An odd woman, to be sure, but she loved him very much. There was a photograph with it, but it seems to have been lost somewhere in the trenches."

Greg swallowed hard. "I can't--this is too much, Mycroft. You should--I know you want children, one of them should get it." 

Mycroft took a deep breath. "I'm a bit old for it now, but I do hope one day, you and I will have one of our own. For the time, however, I would like you to have it. Because I, too, am scared of losing you and it would look good with your official uniform."

"He didn't die, right? In the trenches?"

Mycroft frowned. "No. He came home when the war was done and saw both his own children grow and his grandchildren be born."

"Good. I wouldn't want something that might be cursed."

"Curses don't exist, Greg."

"For me, they do." Greg put the watch back in the case and walked over to Mycroft. "Thank you. This is...I love it. I'll make sure to have it with me always."

Mycroft smiled. "I can't wait to see you wearing it on your uniform."

Greg set the box on the night stand and kissed his lover. "Mm, I'm sure you will. You'll have your cameras trained on me, looking for it."

Mycroft smirked. "Of course. I do, anyway, because you look lovely in your uniform."

"Oh, I know exactly what my uniform does for you. Maybe you can show me, though? So I don't forget?"

Mycroft chuckled and walked them back to the bed. "With pleasure," he purred.


End file.
